


For Argument's Sake

by Batastic_Grayson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bruce Needs a Hug, Camping, Comedy, Friendship, Mild Language, Multi, Protective Clark Kent, Road Trips, Trust Issues, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-19 03:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batastic_Grayson/pseuds/Batastic_Grayson
Summary: Bruce and Clark haven't been on speaking terms as of late, and their annual guys' trip is coming up. Lois and Diana think both men might just need a little push to get them communicating again... Begrudgingly, the men embark on a forced camping trip to Yosemite to work out their "issues". Needless to say, it's not pretty.





	1. Chapter 1

_**Bruce**_      

 

           “I don’t see why this is necessary.”

            Diana eyes me over the top of the rucksack with a singular brow arched, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply continues folding clothes deftly, packing because I have refused to, with the same serene calm she’s maintained since she dropped the news on me this morning. I find her composure most irritating, especially because I know she went behind my back to orchestrate this whole thing. She should at least have the decency to look cowed.

            I cross my arms over my chest as I continue to pace, feeling that seed of frustration blossoming quite nicely in the pit of my stomach. “I am perfectly capable of handling my own travel arrangements, or frankly, the lack thereof.” I catch the quirk of a half-smile in my periphery, and it only makes me angrier. I scowl at my socked feet as I stalk across the bedroom floor. “I don’t see why you and Lois felt the need to throw Clark and I together, when we are _clearly_ not on speaking terms.”

            Diana sighs as she finishes folding a sweater in pale blue, something I’ve had buried in the back of the closet for years. I detest that sweater, but Diana loves it. When she drops the garment in the duffel and closes the lid, she’s adopted an expression I can only describe as exasperated.

            “That’s exactly why we organized this trip. To get you two talking again.”

            Ah, the trip. The stupid, blasted trip that Clark and I have taken for the last five years. It started as a weekend out of town, just the two of us, road tripping it for the sake of some “guy time”. It usually involves backpacking somewhere or escaping to an island resort for some much-needed sun. Over the years we’ve gradually stretched the length to a week, and now we do it annually. This year, we’d been planning on pitching a tent in Yosemite for a week.

            That is, until shit hit the fan and we stopped talking.

            I stop at the side of the bed, planting my hands on my hips stubbornly. I still haven’t changed out of my robe, whether out of defiance or laziness, I can’t tell. “I don’t _want_ to talk to him.”

            Diana offers a soft smirk, her dark eyes alight with the kind of mischief that only serves to fan the flame of irritation licking at my throat. “It’s been a month. Don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet?”

            “No.”

            “You’re behaving like a child! I don’t understand why you won’t just talk to him.”

            “You want my honest answer?”

            She nods, although I can tell by her expression that she is already anticipating my response.

            “Because Clark and I are both adults, and we are perfectly capable of deciding when a friendship has run its course. _Without_ you and Lois interfering.”

            Diana lifts both brows, and I see a genuine flash of worry flutter across her face before she’s frowning and crossing both arms over her chest. “Run its course? You’re really willing to throw a friendship away over one fight?”

            I sigh, and my shoulders sag against my will. I feel tired already, and the real trial hasn’t even begun. “That’s not what I meant.” I pause, rubbing at the base of my skull to dispel the headache growing there. “Look, this isn’t about one fight. It’s about trust. It’s about repeating the same goddamn conversation over and over, and yet getting nowhere.”

            I don’t look up from the edge of the mattress when Diana rounds the bed, but I feel the muscles of my back loosen unbidden when she begins rubbing soothing circles across my shoulder blades. A sigh slips from my lips when she leans against my back and presses a kiss to the nape of my neck, and the contact is enough to unwind the anxiety pooling in the base of my stomach. She’s always had this effect on me. Like water to a flame, I am helpless under her hands.

            Eventually, her hands find their way around my waist, and I let her hold me against her for several moments. The scowl fades from my features like water from a tub, until I feel more level. More in control.

            I feel her sigh at my back, and her arms tighten slightly around my abdomen, “Bruce…I know you don’t like this right now, but I genuinely believe that this will be good for you.”

            I turn around in her arms so that we’re facing each other, letting myself inhale a deep breath of her. This close, she smells like coffee and almond shampoo. I narrow her with a chiding glower. “If you wanted us to reconcile, you could’ve just set up dinner, Di. A whole vacation is a bit overkill don’t you think?”

            She laughs, joy lines pressing like roadmaps at the corners of her eyes, and the sound does wonders for my sore pride. “Probably. But you haven’t missed this trip in five years, and I wasn’t about to let you skip it now.”

            I sigh heavily, shaking my head. “A week alone with Clark. Oh joy.” I can already feel the pool of irritation and anxiety coming back to seize my stomach just thinking about it.

            Diana presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, but I can feel her lips smiling against me. “You’ll be fine. Just try to be diplomatic, alright? You’re supposed to be mending fences, not tearing them down.”

            “I’ll try.” God, even promising that is a struggle.

            She grins like she’s won a hard-fought battle, but it’s hard to begrudge her when eyes like amber are looking at me like that. I’d do just about anything to please her at this point, and that’s saying something. I dip my head to steal a brief kiss, and inevitably it becomes much more involved than I originally intended. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the moment with her, particularly when she’s fresh out of the shower and trying to bribe me.

            It’s Diana herself who eventually stops me with a hand on my chest, her lips curled into a rueful smile. “You should get dressed. Clark and Lois should be here soon, and you don’t want to miss your flight.”

            I grunt in distaste, but her declaration has the desired effect. The reminder dampens any fire that might’ve been brewing, and I feel a grim scowl already pinching my features when I step away from her to the dresser. Let’s hope this week goes by quickly.

 

**_Clark_ **

****

I thought I was fully prepared for the pouting, the cold shouldering, the hidden glowers. I knew Bruce wouldn’t like the idea of taking our trip after our scuffle. Hell, _I_ don’t even like the idea, even if I do see its merits.

          But what I wasn’t prepared for was the outright ambivalence of Bruce towards me.

          I’m standing in the entryway with Lois at my side, a backpack hooked over one shoulder and a suitcase at my feet. Bruce is standing opposite us, mirroring my image with Diana tucked into his side, but he is refusing to acknowledge my presence. Completely, undeniably ignoring that I even exist. His eyes, cool like ice, flit about the room and coast over me like I’m a vapor of smoke.

          If I weren’t so damn angry at him, I might be hurt.

          Lois squeezes my hand after a moment of painful stillness, and I force a somewhat congenial nod in his direction. “Bruce.”

          His gaze finally seems to settle on me, but his expression remains frosty and detached. He gives a quick dip of his chin, voice brittle and unyielding. “Clark.”

          Oh God kill me now.

          We stand like this for what seems like twenty minutes, exchanging sideways glances and hidden glares. Diana and Lois look back and forth between us with arched brows, and I can tell they’re disappointed when neither of us attempts to broach a conversation.

         “So…” It’s Lois who eventually breaks the awkward silence that’s lingering around us like a thick pudding, clearing her throat with a half-smile. “What time does your flight leave again?”

         Bruce remains silent, staring off somewhere past us with a mouth flattened in disapproval, hands tucked obstinately in his pockets. Diana is forced to inhale a deep sigh, but she seems unfazed by Bruce’s particular brand of stubborn. I wish I could say the same.

         “Around three.”

         “Well, we should probably get going then…Give you boys enough time to get through security and find your gate.”

         We all turn for the door in sync, silently filing out the exit towards the car that Alfred pulled around for us ten minutes back. We say nothing when we load into the car, but Diana and Lois purposefully take the front seats, so we are forced to sit in the back next to each other. I press into the car door like a three-year-old forced to sit next to the nemesis sibling. Bruce does much the same.

         I try not to feel embittered by the fact that my wife set me up on a trip that’s probably going to be miserable, but it’s hard to feel particularly charitable when she leans over her seat and flashes us both a wicked grin.

        “We got you guys seats next to each other on the flights, so you better get cozy.”

        Bruce’s gaze flashes over to me, and I catch a hint of that irritation in his gaze. Just enough to make me know he’s still pissed to high hell with me.

        Sweet Lord, this is going to be a long week.

 

******* 

 

         He doesn’t talk to me for six hours. Nothing above a mumbled gate number or to tell me he’s stepping away to the bathroom. We travel in dead silence, and I am immensely grateful that I remembered to bring my headphones when we hit the fourth hour of cold-shouldering. It helps to put on a playlist and pretend that Bruce and I are just on any regular vacation.

         But really, the contrast is sad. Normally, we’d be elbow deep in coded conversation regarding league business and upcoming summits. We’d talk about the kids, the wives, the jobs, and we’d probably share a few beers at the airport bar. We’d laugh about Damian’s flare for the dramatic and Jon’s bleeding heart, Lois’ micromanaging and Diana’s iron fist. It would’ve been a nice break from the monotony of life to reconnect with my best friend.

          We stride from the airport side by side when we land in California, and I take a deep breath of the sun-kissed air to steady the pit in my stomach. Bruce still hasn’t spoken to me, and by all accounts, he probably won’t without prodding. He’s currently skulking a few feet ahead of me, duffel dangling from one hand, the other carrying a set of keys we picked up from the car rental booth. Everything about his posture breathes tension, from the bunch of his shoulders to the chilly glances at me over aviator frames.

          God, it’s like traveling with a stranger.

          We stop beside a Jeep Wrangler, and it’s somewhere between loading our bags and slipping inside that I feel my patience fissure. I frown over the top of vehicle at him, “Are we going to talk at all? Or are you just going to give me the silent treatment this whole week?”

          I can’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses he wears, but I certainly catch the petulant brow lifted above the frame. “Take a wild guess.”

          His head dips as he disappears into the car, and I hear the door slam with enough force to shake the vehicle. I follow suit, irritation binding like hands around my stomach anew, and it’s tempting to cross my arms over my chest and pout as he starts the car.

          He fiddles with the air conditioning and radio for a moment, posture still tight, and I use the opportunity to glare over at him. “Are you seriously going to be this immature?”

          Bruce pushes the sunglasses onto the top of his head and puts the car in reverse, sliding out of the parking space with a little bit too much speed to be comfortable. Eyes very similar to ice burn into the road when we tear out of the parking lot, and he hits the expressway at ten over the speed limit.

           “Oh, I think I’m being quite civil, all things considered.”

           I give a humorless laugh, “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me. And I wouldn’t call you the model of civility on any day.”

           “That’s rich, coming from _you_.”

           “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

           “ _I’m_ not the one who corners their friends and humiliates them in front of their colleagues. _I’m_ not the one who feels the need to stick his nose where it doesn’t fucking belong.” His eyes dart over to me for a brief moment and the venom in his expression is enough to fell an army, “But go ahead and keep telling yourself how _civil_ you are.”

           I struggle for an appropriately diplomatic response and am reminded again why Bruce usually wins arguments. His verbal attacks are much more concise than mine, whereas I thrive on paper. If only I were as eloquent—and underhanded. Damn him.

           “You’re still stuck on that?”

           Bruce arches both brows, knuckles white against the steering wheel as we weave in and out of traffic. If I didn’t trust him so much, I might assume he was going to send us hurtling over a guard rail.

           “I don’t remember you apologizing for being an asshole, but maybe I missed that conversation.” He glances at me, lifting his chin slightly, “Tell me, Clark, did I miss that somewhere? Did you magically decide to treat me like an adult again, or am I correct in assuming that you’d still rather handle me with your kid gloves?”

           I do cross my arms over my chest this time, and my voice sounds embarrassingly indignant. “I won’t apologize for protecting you.”

           Bruce offers a grunt, gesturing as if to dismiss the whole conversation. “Then we have nothing to talk about.”

           “Well _I_ do. I have a great many things I’d like to talk about.”

           “Let me rephrase since you’re having trouble grasping the concept.” Those knuckles work tighter against the steering wheel, and I wonder briefly if his fingers are starting to get cold from lack of blood flow. “ _I_ have nothing, absolutely nothing, to say to you. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to work through it, I don’t want to get over it. In fact, I would prefer if we didn’t speak about the argument at all.”

           I stare at him, trying to ignore the trickle of worry curling in my stomach. He’s serious…and it scares me. “You’re not even willing to try and reconcile?”

           Bruce sighs, and the pressure leaves his frame slightly, like someone letting air out of a balloon. His hands loosen on the steering wheel enough so that color returns to his fingers. “Frankly, Clark…I’ve had enough. It’s abundantly clear that you don’t trust me and that you will never treat me like an equal, so why would I try to prove myself to you? How could that possibly benefit me in any way, shape, or form?”

           I start to say something in rebuttal, but Bruce raises a hand to silence me and shakes his head, “Don’t. This isn’t just one fight, it’s years of repeating conversations and yet still finding ourselves back at this point time and time again. I’m done trying to make you see my side, and I imagine you’re pretty damn tired of trying to change my mind, so why don’t we just call it quits on the subject, hm? We do this trip and then we get on with our lives. End of story.”

           I blink at him, not even noticing the shift from highway to mountain pass as Bruce navigates the car deeper into the park. “End of story? What the hell does that even mean, Bruce?”

           The muscle of his jaw tics, gaze remaining obstinately forward. “It means I’m done talking about this.”

           “You want me to just ignore the elephant in the room. Just…” I shrug, feeling a frown drawing my brows deep, “pretend like we’re not even fighting? Pretend like nothing happened?”

            He’s started tapping the steering wheel rhythmically, a flustered habit he’s adopted for special occasions such as this. “Look, I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t do, Clark. It’s not my business. I just want to get through this week without killing you or myself in the process. Think you can handle that?”

            I scrub a hand over my face, more than tempted to open the car door and throw myself out. Sometimes it’s like trying to talk to a brick wall with Bruce, especially when he thinks he’s been wronged. On a level, I get why he’s upset. The whole situation…how I handled it, left something to be desired. But I can’t apologize for what I said to him. I care about him, more than he probably knows, and I can’t just stand by while he sabotages himself and his safety.

            I won’t.

            I shake my head, trying to draw in a steadying breath. It sounds more like a hiss than a calming technique. “God, I forgot how stubborn you are.”

            Bruce lifts a shoulder, “Yeah well, remember quickly, because I’m not revisiting this topic again.”

            I sigh, trying to soak in the details of the vistas we seem to be zooming by. Deep forests and rocky outcroppings, mountains surrounding us like two pilgrims on either side…It’s hard to focus when I’m accompanied by the scrooge.

            “Fine, we don’t talk about it. How do you plan on making it through the week without speaking?”

            Bruce seems unaffected by the idea of utter silence, but he is kind enough to offer some mercy for my sake. “I’ll talk to you, Clark, but I’m not going to wax philosophical over our emotional differences. Strictly business. Get that in your head right now.”

            “Fine. We keep it brief. We get through the week, we go home.”

            Bruce nods sharply. “No fuss, no muss.”

            “Good.”

            “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise this has a good ending folks...but we gotta go through the ugly to get to the happy! Enjoy and drop a comment below if it suits your fancy!

**_Bruce_ **

****

We make it through the first couple days on the unsteady treaty. We keep it business, and we avoid small talk. Clark isn’t happy about it, but my blood pressure stays down and we get in a few nice hikes.

           But it’s finding a campsite on the third night that really does us both in. Trying get anything done is like living through a nightmare. We bicker about _everything_. How to assemble the tent, where to hide the trash, what to cook for dinner, who gets what sleeping bag, what time we should wake up, and so on. We haven’t argued this much since we were both eighteen, and I contemplate homicide more than once when Clark seems to _purposefully_ take the stance opposite mine just to piss me off.

            The weather hasn’t been much help in brightening our moods either. It’s rained a few times, and Clark managed to stab a hole through the tent lining on night one, so we’ll be using damp sleeping bags tonight. Plus, I burnt the pot of coffee an hour back when we were arguing about the best way to tie the trash up, so tonight’s pretty much gone to hell.

            We end up seated across from each other at the fire after sundown, looking into the flames with sour expressions and sweaters pulled up to our ears. We never decided what to make for supper, so we’ve resigned ourselves to munching on protein bars with numb fingers. There’s nothing I hate more than ending a long day with a shitty dinner and shitty company. It makes me downright dreadful to be around.

            Clark doesn’t look much happier than I do when he shifts atop the log he’s perched on and leans forward to splay his fingers over the firelight. He frowns, sniffing. “This sucks ass.”

            I grunt, tucking my hands into my armpits for some extra heat. The temperature is fast plunging, and I’m fighting the urge to shiver even with the crackling fire. “Yep.”

           “Remind me to kill Lois when we get back home. This was a terrible idea.”

           “Likewise. I don’t know what she and Diana were thinking.”

          Clark inhales a sigh, shaking his head softly, “Looking out for us, I guess. We can be pretty stubborn.”

          I lift a brow, “No shit?”

          He smirks slightly, rubbing his hands together vigorously, “At least it’s been a good excuse to get away from the routine.” He looks up at the expanse of stars above us, only slightly obscured by the ring of trees huddled around our campsite. “It’s nice out here. Quiet.”

          I nod, scooting to the edge of my seat to soak up more of the warmth, “Yeah.” At least we can agree on that. We just can’t seem to agree on anything else lately, most especially the important things—league business, who should do what, when someone should take it easy, when the other should piss off…

          An uncomfortable fist of irritation lingers in my chest, balled up so tight sometimes it feels hard to breathe when I look at Clark. I know, on a deeper level, that I’m hurt by his actions. I am injured and, being ill-equipped to process that kind of injury from someone I used to trust, I have surrounded the wound with anger and ice. I’ve always dealt with pain this way, but it’s only in the past several years that soul-searching (and Diana if I’m being honest) have paved the way to me understanding why I am the way I am. It’s just my nature. It isn’t wrong, or right. It just is.

          People like Clark…will never understand that.

          He made that abundantly clear when he cornered me last month after an off-world mission in front of the rest of league, all with the intent of expressing his concern for my safety. What he’d actually been doing was undermining me in front of my peers, talking to me as if I was a child, and it had taken everything in me not to hate him. To take it at face value, as true concern.

          But Clark’s never been one to stop while he’s ahead. He’d ignored my dismissal of his complaint and continued with a speech, evidently prepared ahead of time. He’d told me I had been…what was his choice of words? _Foolish._

_Recklessly endangering your life…playing with fire when you’re only a human…should be more careful…should consider letting others take the brunt of these kinds of missions to avoid injury…you’re getting older, Bruce, and you have kids to think about…I’m just concerned._

          Concerned?

           Fucking asshole is what he is.

           I glance up to him, looking mild and sedate atop his log, and something very childish makes me want to come across the campsite and hit him. It would feel nice to hurt him, to make him suffer. But then again, I would probably feel guilty after the deed was done and blood was shed…probably.

          Time passes, so much so that stars really start to show their underbellies between the thrush of clouds above. It should be pretty to me, but instead, I just feel tired and cranky. On a base level, I’m homesick. I want my wife. I want my kids. I want my dog.

          Most of all, I want to be away from Clark, because looking at him is like rubbing lemon juice on a papercut. It makes me feel vengeful, and not all willing to “mend bridges” or any of that other reconciliation-type shit.

          I push to a stand, ignoring the stiffness in my legs from the chill as I start trudging over to the tent at the edge of the site. Clark looks up in surprise from the flames, lifting a brow, “Going to bed so early?”

          I say nothing, choosing the silent treatment so I avoid saying anything stupid as I stoop to unzip the tent. I dip inside, zip it closed, and wait for Clark to inevitably follow me with a sigh. He doesn’t disappoint, and by the time I hear the tent unzip after he’s doused the fire, I’ve already climbed into the blue sleeping bag and closed my eyes.

          I feel his gaze hesitate on me, waiting for me to say something, but he doesn’t push. Not yet at least. He slides into his own sleeping bag, making a godawful ruckus as he tries to get comfortable, and he eventually settles back onto the tent floor with a beleaguered sigh. I don’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he’s sighing about, because I know he’s going to tell me anyway. Clark’s never been one for keeping his feelings to himself, and I know the distance between us is slowly driving him insane. He’ll crack anytime now.

          I’m unsurprised when Clark shifts a few times, huffing and puffing, before he finally levers into an abrupt sit and glares down at me in the darkness. I can feel the heat of his gaze, the anger burning like bramble in his voice, even behind my closed eyelids.

          “I _know_ you want to say something.”

           I lift a shoulder. “Not particularly.”

           A belly-deep sigh. I can almost hear his teeth grinding together as he clenches them. “Look, I’ve given you a few days to process. I’ve been patient as you’ve continued to treat me like shit, and I genuinely thought you were getting over it. But every time I think we’ve moved on, you’re back to sighing and glaring at me! I don’t understand what you want.”

          I crack open an eye, recognizing the discomfort as the fist of anger tightens against my ribcage again. “Get over it?”

          Clark blinks, seeming surprised that I’ve replied at all, “What?”

         “You thought I was…getting over it?”

          He lifts a shoulder, frowning down at me with twin eyes of confusion. “Maybe. I thought we were at least _trying_ to forget about it.” When I remain silently seething, unwilling to even justify that with a response, Clark sighs heavily, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I confronted you with an audience, but I was worried. You’re my best friend, Bruce.”

           God, I hate how that sentence burns and soothes all at once.

           A pale sigh, a long silence, “I just…can we please put this behind us? Forget about it?”

           I consider letting it go. Letting him slip underneath the fence just one more time, but I know we’ll just reach this moment again later down the road. What’s the point in delaying the inevitable?

           So this time, I open both eyes to glare up at him, and I see him already wavering underneath the heat of my look. “Maybe _you’ve_ been trying to forget, Clark, but I’m still remembering just fine. What was it you called me again? _Stupid_?”

            His mouth tightens. “Foolish. I said foolish.”

            “Some would consider them synonyms.”

            “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

            I lift a brow, rising on one elbow so that we’re more on the same level. “Really? Because it sure as hell seemed like you thought I was stupid.”

            Clark’s eyes are softer now, almost penitent, but he still lifts his chin slightly. “I don’t think you’re stupid Bruce…I just think you can be…careless with your safety.”

            “You made sure to say it in front of our colleagues too.” I narrow him with a scowl, feeling anger, icy hot crawling like fingertips up my spine, “What was your aim, Clark? To humiliate me? To undermine the authority and respect I’ve garnered with our peers? Or do you really think so lowly of me that you don’t even consider me a peer? Is that it?”

            Instead of responding like he damn well should, Clark immediately goes on the defensive, hands curling into tight balls in the slippery material of his sleeping bag. “God, it’s just like you to take something insignificant, something like concern from a _friend_ , and turn it into a personal attack.”

            “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

            Clark’s eyes have gone dangerously dark, more blue-navy than anything I’ve seen before, and his cheeks are red, high with color when he answers with a tight laugh, “Oh come, Bruce. We both know you’ve got the emotional literacy of an infant. Someone could say ‘I love you’ and you’d think they were trying to murder you. This is just another in a long line of times when you push me away for being a friend to you.”

            I give a bitter laugh, “Friend? You’ve been _nothing_ but a pain in my ass, nagging me constantly since we first met. Just because I don’t want to hold hands with you and sing fucking kumbaya, doesn’t mean I’m emotionally ‘illiterate’.” I can feel acid in my voice, tainting the air between us like too much salt in dough, but I can’t seem to erase it. “For someone who prides themselves on being understanding, you’d think you’d understand by now that not everyone wants your kind of friendship. Not everyone needs you babysitting them. Some of us just want to be fucking left alone.”

            A sinister kind of hurt, grave and ugly, marks his brow, and he draws back, “I’m just trying to look out for you. Why are you being so stubborn about it?”

            “Because I never asked for it! Take your goddamn charity attitude to someone else, Clark, because I don’t want it. In fact, you can take everything. Take your false sense of superiority, your homegrown Kansas idiocy, your constant naivety, and especially your _friendship_ and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine.”

            He frowns, clearly wounded as he murmurs a soft, “Is that really what you think of me?”

            My fists tighten to the point of pain. “You wanted the truth? Well, there you go, boy scout.”

         Clark flinches, expression touched with murky pain, like someone’s dug in a knife too deep, “And there you go, turning it back on me, trying to hurt me to protect yourself. You know what, you act so surprised that no one wants to be around you, but it’s because you’re like this Bruce. You’re rude, distant, vengeful, arrogant. You don’t let anyone care for you, and when they do, you vilify them for it!”

          He lifts a shoulder, looking down at his sleeping bag with a scowl. “It’s no wonder you’re always alone.”

          Those words hang like ballast between us, heavy, dark, so so deep you could drown in them. I sense their implication immediately, and the effect on me is akin to the reaction a balloon suffers when it comes in contact with a sharp pin. I deflate of anger so quickly, I almost forget that I was about ready to leap across the tent and pummel him.

           I simply blink at him, feeling a new kind of tightness take over my chest. Like cool, cool fingers sinking beneath my ribs, pulling me down. “What did you just say?”

           Clark’s expression has drained almost completely of color, his eyes hollowing to a pale blue. I see the panic in his expression, the regret settling onto his shoulders like a weight when he manages a weak, stilted, “I…I didn’t mean that.”

           I stare at him, swallowing tightly, “Didn’t you?”

           He shakes his head, one of his hands already reaching for me, trying to mend what he’s just said, “Bruce, I…I’m sorry. Please, you have to know that.”

           I pull back from him, watching his hand fall back to the sleeping bag.

           “No…I don’t actually. I don’t have to know anything.” We stay locked in the new silence for so long that I swear the moon shifts places in the heavens. The slant of light cuts across Clark like blades, and I want to believe him. I want to believe that he just said that to hurt me, but it cut a bit too close to home. A bit too close to my center to be so easily forgiven.

           I sniff after a moment, rubbing at my bristled jaw. “I think we should go home tomorrow night. We’ll clean up camp tomorrow afternoon and get a flight back to Gotham.”

            Clark’s eyes are shining with what looks like unspent tears when he frowns at me, “And after that?”

            I look away, scooting deep into my sleeping bag as I put my back to him. “After that…you go home Clark. We go our separate ways. We stop pretending.”

            He sucks in a sharp breath, like I’ve stabbed him, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight. His voice is tighter than a cello string, garbled with something like tears, but he manages a soft, “Oh. Okay,” before I hear shuffling and he too lays back down. This time, there is no shifting. No melodramatic sighing. No furtive looks.

            Just utter, and absolute, silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own DC or its characters; I do own this story!

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own DC or their characters, but I do own this story! Thanks for reading!


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